Magic Mirrors
by Your Angel of Music
Summary: In the midst of a turbulent period in Christian and Syed's relationship, a mysterious figure from Christian's past emerges with a revelation that rocks him to the core. One thing is certain: the couple's lives will never be the same again.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Magic Mirrors**  
>Author:<strong> MercuryPheonix (Your Angel of Music)**  
>Fandom:<strong> EastEnders**  
>Warnings:<strong> Some violent imagery, some sexual references**  
>Spoilers:<strong> Set just after Tamwar and Afia's wedding (Early July '11).

**Summary:** In the midst of a turbulent period in Christian and Syed's relationship, a mysterious figure from Christian's past emerges with a revelation that rocks him to the core. In a world of uncertainly, there is only one thing that can be guaranteed: the couple's lives will never be the same again.

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><p>'<em>Family faces are magic mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present, and future.<em>'

~Gail Lumet Buckley

x  
>x<p>

**Chapter 1**

x  
>x<strong><br>**

It took exactly three and a half seconds for Christian to decide that he didn't particularly like waking up in an empty bed.

It would have taken considerably less time had he not had to fight through the groggy recesses of sleep that had clung on stubbornly as he tried to make sense of the situation. The cold of the opposite pillow had been like a bucket of cold water being thrown over him, shooting through the tips of his nerve endings as he reached out, expecting, with total confidence, to feel warmth at the end of his fingertips. In the just-over-three-seconds that followed – the length of time it took to process the information being fed to him and realign it with his memories of last night – Christian came to the irrefutable conclusion that he should never have bothered opening his eyes in the first place.

Rolling onto his back, a low groan thrumming from somewhere deep in his chest, Christian scrubbed a hand across his face and tried to work out why the bottom had just dropped out his stomach. In almost forty years – and that wasn't going to make him feel any better about this whole situation – he had spent a great many more mornings waking in an empty bed than a shared one. Even those times when he had woken to find someone lying next to him, his overriding emotion had not been one of elation or relief; mostly, his first instinct had been to remove the intruder as quickly as possible and with as little fuss as he could manage.

He sometimes wondered where that part of him had disappeared to, when that Christian Clarke had waved goodbye and shut the door to make room for this new one: a Christian Clarke who felt his whole world disintegrating upon one touch of a cold, empty pillow.

Running the back of his hand along the stubble that peppered his chin, Christian sat up and surveyed the flat. Nothing seemed out of place. In fact, ever since Syed had moved in almost a year ago, the flat had been more ordered and more _right_ than it had ever been with him as the only inhabitant.

The normality of the flat spurred him onwards, urging him to pick up the phone and dial the number (which was so well-rehearsed that the relevant keys had worn down considerably more than those around them). The dialling tone thrummed through his ear for a few moments, the dissonant notes doing nothing to subdue the frolicking butterflies in his stomach.

"Christian, this really isn't a good…"

"Where are you?" A part of Christian knew that interrupting Syed wasn't the best way to forge forward with any kind of reconciliation, but a much bigger part of him was too curious, too worried, too _frightened_ to give a damn about repercussions. "It's only seven-thirty."

There was a _huff _of air that caused the line to crackle.

"I'm with Tanya at the salon. We needed to set up early. I left you a note."

"You did?" Christian glanced over into the kitchen, squinting slightly to make out the bent corner of a folded piece of paper by the coffee machine. "Oh, right. Well, I didn't have a chance…I rang as soon I saw that…I mean, you could have told me."

"No, I couldn't," Christian could swear he heard something in the voice break, but it was so slight that he couldn't be sure whether it was coming from Syed himself or from a break in the line. "You weren't exactly in a listening mood last night, Christian."

That sinking feeling cut even lower into Christian's stomach.

"But you never…"

"This really isn't a good time. Can we do this later? Please?"

There was a plaintiveness that slung to that last syllable, slicing through the sharpness of the tone and embedding itself into Christian's mind. All moisture left his mouth, his tongue sticking uncomfortably to the roof before he could extricate it sufficiently to wrap around the syllables.

"Sure. Okay. I'll see you tonight?"

There was a beat, during which Christian's heart stubbornly refused to get going again.

"Yeah."

Well, it was some hope at least. At least the prospect of seeing Syed, even if there was no reconciliation at the end of the meeting, was enough to stop the bottom from falling irretrievably away from Christian's stomach. As much as he refused to admit it, especially to Syed himself, he knew deep down that that was his greatest fear: losing Syed for good just as he thought he'd finally gotten his happy ending. To be so close to perfection, to everything he never realised he'd wanted, and then to have that snatched away because of his own stubbornness...

Letting out another sigh, Christian dropped the phone onto the bedside table and hauled himself into a seated position, waiting a few moments for the blood to stop pounding in his head before he swung his legs out of bed and planted his feet firmly on the ground. It was good to feel something solid beneath his feet. It reminded him that the world was still there, waiting to catch him.

The world wasn't quite falling apart. Not just yet.

As he went through the usual routine of preparing himself for his first client – shower, teeth, breakfast, clothes; normal things, far too normal – he tried to work out just when and where his world had started to crumble. It hadn't been a sudden moment; that was the difficult thing. It was a steady trickle, dust pouring through the tiny gaps without them even realising that anything was wrong to start with.

Maybe it had been the roof collapse at the Argee Bhajee. That had, after all, been the moment that the Masoods had come crashing back into the perfect little circle they had created together. Maybe it truly had started with an implosion of the literal sense – opening up the cracks and allowing all the insecurities and the doubts and problems to trickle through. As he switched off the shower and roughly scrubbed himself dry, missing the adorably unfunny quip that would usually follow his emerging from the bathroom in nothing but a towel, he began to wish that it had just been them in their little honeymoon bliss forever.

_Th__em against the world._

Wasn't that how it was supposed to work?

Then again, he pondered as he grabbed an apple and bit into it with a savagery that was almost feral, maybe the cracks had been there all along. Perhaps he'd just been so caught up in his own idealised view of what they were as a couple – the two troubadours, standing strong together with no need for anybody else – that he'd missed something fundamental in Syed's own psyche.

If only Syed had opened up to him, had spoken to him rather than just remaining silent. He'd thought that was one of their strengths – their ability to talk. It was something that they'd learnt after that horrific year of lies and deception. Perhaps it was telling that he couldn't even remember what last night's disagreement had been about. It usually followed the same pattern; disagreements over Zainab and Masood, perhaps a misguided quip from Christian's direction, or more disagreements over the adoption.

No, it was the adoption. He couldn't remember what exactly, but there had been a tangible frostiness to the air – which usually signified a disagreement over the adoption. He grimaced slightly, pulling on the nearest vest to hand (not caring whether or not it was particularly clean) and wishing beyond all hope that they could just have an argument, a reconciliation and get it over with. The cold words were worse than the shouting; the lack of emotion more damaging than any of the passion that had defined their relationship.

He'd thought that adoption was supposed to bring them closer together. For a while, it seemed to have done that. Syed had been so excited. They both had been. A family, them and a child, everything they could ever wish for. At least, that's what he'd thought.

In fact, Christian was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, Syed didn't even want to...

A knock broke through his reverie, snapping him out the spiral of thoughts that had held him still with one arm in, one arm out, of his vest. Tugging his clothes on properly, he barrelled to the door, hoping beyond all hope that...

"Package for you. Wouldn't fit through the door."

A messily wrapped bundle was shoved into his arms before he could fully register the down-trodden face of Masood Ahmed at his door. Just as he opened his mouth to reply, the man had turned on his heel, moving away from the door as if he were fleeing from a rapidly advancing fireball. Christian bit his tongue, feeling the anger bubbling in his blood and rising to his face – but he fought back the urge to shout something at the man's retreating back.

It wouldn't do to add more ammunition to the Masood's already considerable arsenal, especially as he wasn't one hundred percent certain that Syed would take his side any longer.

A low growl rumbled in his throat as he shut the door and made his way back up to the flat. Even he wasn't entirely sure whether it was the type of noise that signalled an animalistic, protective anger, or whether it was the pained rumblings of a lion with a thorn embedded in its paw.

As he tried to sort his thoughts into some kind of coherency, he absent-mindedly ripped open the package, emptying the contents on the table and rifling through the mess of papers that fell from the hastily sealed shroud.

He wasn't sure what it was that he was expecting to find.

But one thing was for certain: the last thing he expected, as he perused the mysterious parcel, was for all thoughts of clients, salons, in-laws, adoption, and even the love of his life, to be banished from his mind.

And then it took Christian exactly three and half seconds to realise that, finally, he knew what it was like to have the bottom fall out of his world.

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>x<p>

**TBC**

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>x<p>

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><p><em>Thank you so much for reading. It feels so good to finally get into these characters heads and take them vaguely in the direction I want them to go!<em>

_Please let me know what you think, as this is currently a work in progress and feedback/suggestions/comments will filter into the creative process._


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Magic Mirrors**  
>Author:<strong> MercuryPheonix (Your Angel of Music)**  
>Fandom:<strong> EastEnders**  
>Warnings:<strong> Some violent imagery, some sexual references**  
>Spoilers:<strong> Begins in the period following Tamwar and Afia's wedding (early July, 2011).

**Summary:** In the midst of a turbulent period in Christian and Syed's relationship, a mysterious figure from Christian's past emerges with a revelation that rocks him to the core. In a world of uncertainty, there is only one thing that can be guaranteed: the couple's lives will never be the same again.

**A/N:** A huge thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed or put this on story alert so far. I couldn't do it without you. Also, a huge thanks to my beta **lady in waiting**, who makes sure that I treat these characters right!

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><p>'<em>Family faces are magic mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present, and future.<em>'

~Gail Lumet Buckley

x  
>x<p>

**Chapter 2**

x  
>x<strong><br>**

As if on cue, the rain started to patter on the roof of Walford East station, providing an almost ominous drum roll as the young woman emerged from the gates.

She cut a striking figure amongst the usual humdrum crowds of the East End. The bleached blonde of her hair was like a beacon shooting outwards from the greys and blacks of the raised hoods; it would have been neatly cropped had it not been forced upwards, waxed spikes frozen stoically in place against the wind and rain. A few eyes glanced in her direction, lingering on her instead of bouncing off – drawn to her like a moth to a brightly coloured flame.

A shiver ran up her spine as she stepped out into the rainy street, shifting the bag further upwards onto her shoulder and drawing the dark jacket as tightly around herself as she could. The raindrops drenched the exposed skin of her face, catching hold of the dark make-up of her eyes so that it ran down her cheeks like blackened tears. Another tremble shook her body as the wind caught at her, threatening to rip the bag from her grasp as she braced herself and soldiered forward.

Her progress was stoic, but uncertain; the worried, almost fearful expression on her face providing a striking contrast to the outward image of her clothes. Her head flicked from left to right, eyes scanning the crowds that thronged the dripping street. It was clear to all around her that she was looking for something, but the brightness of her exterior, coupled with the dark, fearful stand-offishness that shone from her eyes, was like a defensive shield, deflecting anyone with intentions of offering a guiding word.

Instead, they left her to wander, the gathering puddles splashing against the material of her jeans and soaking through to the skin beneath. The weather was more reminiscent of the depths of winter than the summer months; as if the brightness had been sucked from the sky and transferred straight to the newcomer's hair.

It would have been easy to blame her. She had the resigned, wary look of someone who was used to accepting blame for things that were not necessarily her fault.

A hand came up absent-mindedly as she put one foot in front of the other, fiddling with the shot of metal that pierced the inner part of her ear. The area around the skin was reddened, and a grimace creased her features as the pads of her fingers worked the silvery stud, indicating that the wound was newly inflicted. The manipulation clearly hurt, but she continued anyway, twisting with more force and sinking her teeth into her bottom lip.

Suddenly, the tinny sound of a mobile ring tone split the air. The young woman started, almost dropping her bag onto the sodden ground as she fumbled around in her pocket for her phone.

Eventually she drew the phone from her pocket – but made no attempts to stop the ringing. Instead her eyes fixed on the screen, fingers vibrating as her thumb hovered, frozen, over the keys.

"You gonna answer that, love?"

She jerked upwards as a jovial voice cut through her reverie, suspicion clouding her features as she was met by the friendly – far too friendly, for her liking anyways – face of Alfie Moon.

"Actually," her voice was slightly shaky, yet with a ring of determination as she punched down onto the keypad. "I don't think I will, thanks."

She pocketed the phone, readjusting the bag on her shoulder and making to head off in the opposite direction.

"Woah, hang on, love," Alfie shimmied around her, effectively blocking her path. Her eyes seemed to flash daggers, shooting outwards to wrap her would-be aggressor in their dark, muddy-brown depths. Alfie took a step backwards, creating a bubble of personal space around her.

"You look lost," there was a note of uncertainty to his voice now, but he managed to keep an upbeat tone. "Maybe I can help you with that."

Her shoulders dropped a little, like a spring loosening some of its tension – not wound quite as tightly, but still capable of unleashing itself with some force should the situation arise.

"Okay," her tongue came out to swipe at a raindrop on her top lip. "Okay."

"What's your name, darlin'?"

A huffing laugh bubbled up from her chest.

"Can we just…y'know…skip the names and go straight to the getting me where I want to go? I'm not particularly keen on giving out my name to complete strangers. Sorry."

"Nah, don't be. S'probably sensible, anyway," he managed to look suitably abashed as he shrugged, tripping slightly over his words. "So, what you lookin' for then?"

The newcomer shifted almost uncomfortably, her gaze dropping to the floor as the sun began to crack through the clouds; as if the sudden glare was a spotlight, singling her out when what she really wanted was to fade into the scenery.

"I'm not…I'm not looking for something. I'm looking for someone…" she took a breath. "Christian Clarke. I'm looking for Christian Clarke. You probably don't…I mean, I'm probably wasting my time …but…"

"I know Christian," the young woman's head shot up, fixing Alfie with a penetrating glare.

"You do?"

"Yeah, saw him working out in the park earlier. Not seen him since, but he usually pops down to the watering hole in between clients to refuel the tank. I can take you over there, if you'd like, once I've grabbed a few bits for the missus. You up for that?"

There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity. The newcomer took a few slow, deep breaths, her fingers coming up to fiddle with her newly pierced ear as the other hand clenched tightly on the strap of her bag. For a brief second she glanced backwards towards the train station, as if weighing up the possibility of retreat – but her head snapped back suddenly, her whole body twisting towards Alfie as she nodded.

"Yes, please," there was a stubborn, almost infantile determination to her voice which Alfie found scarily familiar. "Go on then. I wanna see him. Take me to see him."

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>x<p>

Christian's fingers toyed with the rim of the bottle, running gently around round the glass as his eyes ran over the papers spilling from the torn packaging. He'd stuffed them into his sports bag on the way to his first client, unable to leave them in the flat as if they were tethered by the heartstrings. But he'd felt them all day, a thrumming presence only he could sense.

_Like a dog and a dog whistle. Great_.

He took another swig of the beer, swilling it about in the bottle and watching the sloshing liquid intently.

He'd originally only come in for a lemonade – he'd originally considered an orange juice, but the childish side of him had quickly decided that that was off the menu, at least until Syed would tell him just what it was he was doing wrong. It was silly, but he couldn't help it. There was a strange sense of satisfaction that came from rejecting something as simple as Syed's drink of choice.

Somewhere between stepping over the threshold of the Vic and handing over his money to Kat, a lemonade had morphed into a bottle of beer. Somewhere even further down the line, a bottle of beer had turned into two.

His fingers tightened around the neck, forcing it to his lips to take another mouthful before slamming it back down onto to the table. He'd had another two clients booked in today, but he'd had to ring up and reschedule; the clients he'd had this morning had mentioned to him that he'd not been as alert and focused as he normally was during their work outs. He'd had to lie and pretend that he'd woken up with a headache.

He'd seen the knowing look they'd given him as he said goodbye and shuffled away to the pub.

_Hungover_.

_If only it was that simple_, he thought to himself as his fingers left the bottle and began to play with the corner of the package.

He could never have believed, during all those years of partying and blessed solitude that a simple package in the mail could drive him to the depths of insanity that he felt he'd been driven to today. Then again, he'd never have believed that an empty bed could make him feel as though the four horsemen of the apocalypse had come trotting through the bedroom.

He guessed he was learning a lot about himself recently.

Only problem was, he thought as he picked up the photograph that lingered on top of the pile of papers, there were certain things that he would much rather have remained oblivious about. He'd had enough worries swirling about in his mind to last a lifetime and now...

His finger brushed over the image on the paper, smudging a finger mark onto the face staring up at him. He had no idea what to do. He'd never thought that…well, let's just say that there was a large part of him that was screaming and thrashing and railing about the impossibility of it all. Call it denial, call it bloody-mindedness, call it the vain hope of an easier life, but…

"Hey, Christian!"

Christian looked up, quickly flipping the photograph and pressing the face into the table top.

"It's only just gone lunchtime, mate, you wanna watch how much of that you're chucking down your neck."

Christian forced a quick smile, Alfie's incessant 'cheeky-chappy' demeanour having exactly the opposite effect to what was obviously intended. Usually, he found himself swept along in the waves of joviality – today, he just wanted to drown in the bottle of liquor rather than have it inflicted upon him for one more second.

"Yeah, well, some circumstances call for extreme measures," he took another swig to prove his point. "Anyway, I'm in the middle of a very important meeting with the alcohol, so if there's something you were after then I suggest that you…" he waved his hand in the air to move on the conversation. Alfie let out a harmless little smirk, but nodded.

"I found this one in the Square," he stepped to the side, gesturing with his hand at the previously-shadowed figure behind him. "Said she was looking for you. Right proper lost, she was, so I thought I'd give her a nudge in the right direction and…"

But Christian wasn't listening anymore.

He was more concerned with the young woman who had stepped forward into the light. The young woman who was the older version of the child whose face had been shining up at him from various photographs ever since that package had arrived this morning.

The young woman who had the same fearful, uncertain, yet unstoppably stubborn and abrasive glint in her eyes as he'd seen on himself in the mirror this morning.

"Thanks, Alfie, I'll take this from here," he tried his best to disguise the tremor that was rumbling deep in his chest, waving the other man away with a hasty flick of his hand. Alfie, thankfully, took the hint without any questions, moving away and behind the bar with a curious look. Once he was out of earshot, the mysterious figure stepped forward, the knuckles of her hand popping from the skin as she held the strap of her bag in a death grip.

"I'm Mara," her voice cut through the air, slightly shaky yet shot through with determination. "And I think you already know who I am."

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>x<p>

**TBC…**

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><p>Thank you for reading! If you have any comments, I'd love to hear them. Your views and comments really do help to shape this fiction.<strong><br>**


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Magic Mirrors

**Author:** MercuryPheonix (Your Angel of Music)

**Fandom:** EastEnders

**Warnings:** Some violent imagery, some sexual references

**Spoilers:** Begins in the period following Tamwar and Afia's wedding (early July, 2011).

**Summary:** In the midst of a turbulent period in Christian and Syed's relationship, a mysterious figure from Christian's past emerges with a revelation that rocks him to the core. In a world of uncertainly, there is only one thing that can be guaranteed: the couple's lives will never be the same again.

**A/N:** Thank you all for reading, commenting and putting this fic on alert. I don't know what I'd do without you. This one's a bit shorter and doesn't really progress the storyline _or _answer any questions, but I felt it was hightime Syed got some action; this fic has been very Christian-orientated thus far, for a very good reason, so it was about time we got into Syed's head a little bit. Not all the way, of course, or there'd be nothing left to delve into! I hope I've got him right. Once again, thanks to **lady in waiting** for patiently being my beta and making sure I treat these characters with the respect they deserve.

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><p>'<em>Family faces are magic mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present, and future.<em>'

~Gail Lumet Buckley

**Chapter 3**

"Sy!"

Syed turned away from the desk, his world spinning in a flurry of golden hair as Tanya bustled towards him, mobile phone in hand. There was a slightly harassed smile spread across her face; she was stressed, but clearly loving the action and fast-pace of their fledgling business. Normally, he'd have returned it – he'd missed all this during those long months of unemployment – but today he couldn't quite manage it.

"Mrs Carew's had to cancel her appointment at the last minute, so I've told her we can reschedule for next week some time, maybe even combine it with her monthly blue-rinse," Tanya tossed the phone onto the front desk, turning round so that she was leaning back and facing Syed with a breezy expression. "Although, when I find out whoever decided it would be a good idea to start handing over my mobile number to clients…"

There was a gentle cough from within the salon, as Jodie began to show a great deal more interest in her client's nails than the two of them had come to expect from her. Tanya sent a brief glare in her general direction – but very quickly her focus returned to Syed, who had twisted on his foot so that he could lean his weight onto the desk, fingers playing distractedly with the corner of the appointments book.

Tanya waited for a few seconds before cocking her head, twisting her neck as far as it would go so she could look Syed in the eye.

"Earth to Syed! That was your last appointment for today. You can go home early," she prodded him with a perfectly manicured nail. "Go _home _to your _husband_."

Syed exhaled suddenly, dropping the edge of the book and straightening his back to survey the salon.

"Nah, I think I'll stay," he rubbed the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the stray locks of hair that brushed against the top of his spine. "Someone else might walk in. Anyway, it wouldn't be fair to leave you to clear everything up by yourself."

"Syed," Tanya shadowed him, reaching out to rest a hand on the fading whiteness of his sleeve. "You've been here since the crack of dawn. I've got Jodie here, we can handle it…"

"I said I'd stay, alright?" the moment the words were out of his mouth Syed blanched, the abruptness of his tone sending waves of embarrassment shooting through him. "Sorry."

Tanya's hand moved up his arm, rubbing reassuring circles into his shoulder.

"Don't be, babe. It's fine. We're all allowed to have our moments," Syed flicked his head towards her as she spoke, a tiny, grateful smile flashing briefly across his features. She smiled back, an eyebrow raising as he ducked his head down and leant into her touch.

"So, you going to tell me what's wrong or am I going to have to start forcing bamboo under your nails?"

"Tan…really, I'm fine…"

"You do realise that, as your boss, I could actually order you home?"

The olive tan of Syed's skin paled further as he turned towards her, his eyes brimming with a desperation that would normally have embarrassed him – but, right now, there were more stringent emotions overcrowding his brain.

At least, he thought suddenly, it was only desperation that was filling his eyes. He hadn't shed any – well, not many – tears over the whole situation, and the last thing he wanted was for it to happen _here_.

"Don't make me go back, Tan. Not yet. I…_ need_ to be here. For now at least. As long as I'm not under your feet. Please."

Clearly something in his voice, his expression, maybe even his eyes – and he was certain that there _weren't_ any tears – softened the enquiring, if well-meaning, curtain that had cloaked Tanya's features. He was reassured that the questions were going to stop. But he wasn't sure whether he preferred the inquisition to the sympathetic, almost pitying look he was now receiving.

He'd done a lot of things wrong in his life. He'd made a lot of mistakes. But the one thing he'd never wanted was pity. Understanding, forgiveness – but never pity.

"I'm sure we can make some use of you here," she patted him on the arm before returning to the desk. "But you're going to have to go home at some point. Whatever he's done, you've got yourself a man there who adores you. You gotta remember that, okay?"

"I know," Syed sighed, exhaling as he made his way around to the other side of the desk, returning to his tired flicking through the appointments book. His thumb carefully caressed the curling corner as he stared at the page, running the pad of his finger along the list of names. It took his attention, at least for now. But, very quickly, he ran out of names, the blank page glaring at him accusingly.

_Don't you try and brush this off_.

He sighed and looked up. Tanya was still staring at him affectionately. Something in her expression managed to inflict a tiny crack in his stoic wall.

"But sometimes…" he leant forward on his elbows, using the pages as a pillow. "…that's not enough, y'know? It's so hard – harder than I ever thought it would be. I thought that we could never top what it took for us to actually _be _a couple, but this…_staying together_…I don't…"

Tanya was nodding.

"It's not easy, babe. I know. Trust me I know. Unless you're perfect - and as gorgeous and lovely as you are, I've not met a perfect person yet – you're going to make mistakes, but you gotta work through them."

"But he…" Syed dropped his head and threaded his fingers through his hair. "…I mean, I…. "

"Just talk to him, babe. Even if it's not tonight, you gotta tell him how you're feeling and you gotta listen to how he's feeling. Secrets will destroy you. I'd say that I know that better than anyone else, but I'm pretty certain you're quite clued into that already. Am I right?"

There was a beat before Syed gave a tiny nod. Tanya cocked her head disapprovingly, reaching out and slapping him lightly on the arm.

"You gotta tell me I'm right," Syed rolled his eyes as she grinned. "Go on. And no crossed fingers: I'm watching you closely, mister!"

A tiny, yet genuine, smile spread uncontrollably across Syed's face as he met her eyes.

"Fine. Okay. You're right."

Her grin widened, but before she could open her mouth they were suddenly interrupted as a customer wandered through the door. Tanya immediately turned away from Syed, taking a quick, masterful look at the books, locating the name and heading over to greet their newest client.

Before she got there, however, she turned back with a kindly, yet serious expression; as if she couldn't quite let it go just yet.

"Promise me. No more secrets, even if you're trying to keep the peace?"

Syed bit his lip, smiling tightly as he crossed his arms protectively across his chest. A wave of uncertainty shot through him; but he held it back, restraining the nervous energy that was thrumming through him. Holding it back for another day. A part of him knew he probably should let it out - but he couldn't.

Not yet. Instead, he just nodded.

"No more secrets."

x  
>x<p>

**TBC...**

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><p>Thank you so much!<p>

Please, if you have the time, leave a quick comment to let me know what you think. It really does spur me onwards.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Magic Mirrors**  
>Author:<strong> MercuryPheonix (Your Angel of Music)**  
>Fandom:<strong> EastEnders**  
>Warnings:<strong> Some violent imagery, some sexual references**  
>Spoilers:<strong> Begins in the period following Tamwar and Afia's wedding (early July, 2011).

**Summary:** In the midst of a turbulent period in Christian and Syed's relationship, a mysterious figure from Christian's past emerges with a revelation that rocks him to the core. In a world of uncertainly, there is only one thing that can be guaranteed: the couple's lives will never be the same again.

**A/N:** I apologise for the delay! I have had an inhuman amount of work to do this week - one day I did an eleven hour shift with one ten minute break - and my wonderful beta, **lady in waiting**, is also going through a pretty hectic time. We're working hard to work around the unfortunate issues posed by real life, but we'd much rather the fiction you are presented with is of good quality, rather than fast. I hope you'll agree!

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><p>'<em>Family faces are magic mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present, and future.<em>'

~Gail Lumet Buckley

**Chapter 4**

"You got anything stronger?"

Mara pulled a face at the lemonade that Christian set down in front of her, her nose wrinkling as she dipped her fingers into the bubbling liquid and pulled out the decrepit lemon slice that had been swirling in its depths. A look of distaste descended like a dark curtain over her features as she dropped it onto the wooden tabletop like a soggy tissue.

Christian swallowed hard, his hand hovering over the back of his chair as he wondered whether or not he should sit down. Of all the questions scuttling around in his mind, this was the easiest one to focus on. Perhaps, he hoped, if he just concentrated on answering that particular one it would create a slipstream for the others.

"Sod this, I'm getting something else," the young woman struggled with the jacket that was hung over the back of her chair, rummaging around the in the pocket. "I can't do this without a proper drink."

Eventually, she managed to find her purse and pulled it from the crumpled folds. As she went to stand up, Christian suddenly reached out and caught her arm; the touch was brief but electric, both of them flinching away as soon as contact was made.

"Don't…I'll…" he quickly shoved his hand into his own pocket, focusing his concentration on finding his own money. "You are old enough, right?"

Mara sank back into her chair, tongue swiping at her lip as she ran a hand nervously through the bleached spikes of her hair – but, somehow, she managed to flash the briefest of cocky smiles in his direction.

"I don't even know why you're asking me that."

There was an awkward beat; the air was thick with the silence, hanging oppressively between them. And then Christian nodded, turning away quickly and heading to the bar.

As he waited to be served, ignoring the questioning looks that both Moons were sending in his direction, his gaze drifted back to the table. He leant all his weight on his arms, tipping his head as he watched – transfixed, almost, by every single movement made by the young woman he'd never met before. He was like a child struggling to read, staring intently at the pages as he struggled to form the letters into words. More than anything, he wished that he could make some sort of sense of everything that he was seeing.

When he returned to the table, Mara took a firm hold of the bottle – he realised that he'd subconsciously bought the same brand that he'd been knocking back just an hour previously – and took a long, almost desperate swig. Her eyes closed slightly, fluttering open as he slid uncomfortably into the seat opposite her, crossing his arms on the tabletop and leaning forward as far as he dared.

"So…" Christian cleared his throat, feeling his tongue tying itself in knots in his mouth. "Why are you here? Now, I mean. Not that I don't want you here, but..."

"My mum kicked me out," Mara took another sip of the beer, her eyes flicking up to rest on Christian's before returning to the drink in front of her.

"Oh. Okay. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she flashed a tiny, uncaring smile that he didn't believe for a second (_God_, he thought suddenly, _am I _that _easy to read too?_). "I knew it was coming. For years, actually. Surprised it took so long."

Her eyes closed for a moment, a sigh hissing its way between her lips as she leant back in the chair. Christian was suddenly overcome by a sudden desire to put his arms around her – it wasn't there for very long, but something about the action made him ache slightly.

"Are you okay?"

Her eyes opened, fixing him with a look that he couldn't decide was angry, pitiful or a little bit cocksure. It took him no time at all to decide which one she obviously wanted to convey.

"She's not worth it anyway. I'm better off without her. I can do it on my own…"

For the first time since he'd woken up that morning, Christian managed a tiny, genuine smile.

"Call me crazy, but why do I feel like there's a 'but' coming in somewhere?"

The corner of Mara's mouth twitched.

"Call _me_ crazy, but I don't fancy sleeping on the pavement."

Their eyes locked, and for the most fleeting of moments there was…_something_. Christian couldn't quite put his finger on what it was, but it was definitely _something_. That was the only word he could think of to describe it.

He wasn't quite sure how it made him feel. He felt completely out of control – and that was not something that Christian Clarke was used to. At least, it wasn't something he'd been used to until he'd come to realise that living without Syed actually made it difficult to breathe.

_Syed_.

"Sorry," he dropped his gaze, well aware of the fact that Mara was still staring at him. Intently. Like she was looking for something. "I just think that there's something you should know. I'm…"

But Mara cut him off.

"Gay. I know."

Christian blinked, looking up to gauge her expression. Nothing.

"You know?"

"Yeah. Never really been allowed to forget it."

Now there was something in her expression, a despondency that Christian couldn't quite interpret. There was a lot going on behind the muddy colouring of her eyes; he knew it would take a long time to get deeply into the tangled mass in her head.

_And isn't it funny how I'm already acting like this thing is long term?_

There were so many things he wanted to ask, but something about the last words she had uttered held him back. There was a pain there, a pain that he recognised but couldn't put his finger on.

"Look," there was a defensiveness to her tone, as if a cage of steel had been lowered over her emotions. "I'm gonna cut to the chase. I've done my research. I've been getting everything together for years: I know you, I know about you and I know what I'm doing. I've been saving up as well - I know how we can find out the truth, but, right now, I need you to trust me. I've got nowhere else to go. Please."

As soon as the words were out in the open, Mara lifted the bottle to her mouth and, in a few, abrupt mouthfuls, drained the remaining liquid.

Christian considered her for a moment, the silence once again hanging heavily between them as she lowered her gaze to the tabletop. There were a thousand thoughts butting against his skull, urging him to let them in – things to consider, things to say, objections, questions, and a million other things that would only have added to the bubbling mixture swirling in his brain.

But Christian ignored them. Shutting them out. There would be time for that. But not now.

Instead, he looked at the nervously defiant face carefully avoiding his gaze.

And he made his decision.

x  
>x<p>

**TBC**

x  
>x<p>

* * *

><p>Thank you for bearing with me, and please, if you have any comments, drop my a line and let me know what you think.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Magic Mirrors**  
>Author:<strong> MercuryPheonix (Your Angel of Music)**  
>Fandom:<strong> EastEnders**  
>Warnings:<strong> Some violent imagery, some sexual references**  
>Spoilers:<strong> Begins in the period following Tamwar and Afia's wedding (early July, 2011).

**Summary:** In the midst of a turbulent period in Christian and Syed's relationship, a mysterious figure from Christian's past emerges with a revelation that rocks him to the core. In a world of uncertainly, there is only one thing that can be guaranteed: the couple's lives will never be the same again.

**A/N:** My most glorious beta, **lady in witing**, is back with us in the world of not-doing-a-drama-production. Hooray! And she very promptly resumed the wonderful job she was doing of betaing this fiction. So a huge shout out to her for returning and for being amazing. This couldn't happen without her. It also couldn't happen without your generous feedback - it really does feed the muse, so I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

* * *

><p>'<em>Family faces are magic mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present, and future.<em>'

~Gail Lumet Buckley

x

**Chapter 5**

x**  
><strong>

As he neared the entrance to their flat, Syed felt a nervous shiver run down his spine. He tried to tell himself that it was the last remnants of the rain, the dampness clinging to his skin, along with the fact that he'd been up and busy since the early hours of the morning.

But, in his heart of hearts, he couldn't deny that the thought of returning to that frostiness – that atmosphere that had been left hanging in the air after last night's all-too-familiar disagreement – was enough to make him turn around and head straight back to the salon. A very large part of him knew that he'd rather sit in the empty building, with nothing but the shampoo and scissors to keep him company, than plaster over the cracks with a smile.

Because he knew that, if he went into the flat now, _that_ would be his first instinct: paint over the problems with prettiness and words, just like they always did. Draw on the love that had never faltered, never waned, to cover and disguise all the issues that were gripping them in a clawed grasp.

He loved Christian. Christian loved him. He was sure of that. But sometimes love wasn't enough. They were human: fallible, flawed, perhaps more than most.

It was so, _so _easy to just let the love be, to use it as a comfort blanket that could protect from them from the problems that they had created. To hug, smile, kiss, make love and forget that anything had ever burrowed its way between them.

But another, smaller part of him knew that he had to take Tanya's words to heart. She'd spoken nothing but the truth. They _did _need to talk – they needed to be honest. Even if that meant that one of them was hurt in the short term – and he knew _both_ of them would probably be hurt in the short term – it also meant they could work through it. Fight their way out of the tangled mess they'd woven, cutting through until they reached the light on the other side.

If there was one thing, and one thing only, that Syed was certain of, it was that he and Christian could fight their way through anything. They'd proved that, to themselves and to the world. Together, they _could _be invincible – if only they gave themselves permission.

Syed took another breath, grasping the key that nestled snugly in the bottom of his jacket. He stole a brief moment to consider how secure it was in there - as if it had carved out its own little nook – before he drew it out and slotted it into the lock.

If he was going to start this, then _he _had to be the one going into the flat. Christian couldn't be the one to let him in. This had to come from _him_. No more waiting for someone else to open the door – this time, he had to do it himself.

Usually, he'd take the stairs two at a time, springing upwards in a bid to find himself in the warmth of home; home being both the place where he could truly be himself _and_ the arms of the man he loved.

But this time he was more cautious, brushing his heels against the ledge of each step before he even contemplated taking another. Like he was a condemned man en route to his execution. No, that's not right. Not condemned, not yet. More like a man taking each slow step to face his jury – to say what he needed to say and then face his judgement in silence.

And just when did he start considering Christian to be his jury?

As he reached the main door, he stopped; passing a hand through his hair as the keys hung shakily from his thumb. The metal rattled against his skull, knocking tiredly as if to try and urge those thoughts in his head into some kind of coherency.

It struck him as a little ironic that the entrance to the flat was a little bit like the state of their relationship at the moment in time – just when you make your way through one door, you find yourself confronted with another solid structure blocking your path.

The urge to knock his head fitfully against the wood of the door was almost painfully intense. But the knowledge that _he_ had to enter the flat of his own volition, however much he wanted to knock on that door and let Christian stand there with his arms wide open, was enough for him to hold back and brace his key in the lock.

And then he turned it.

Now or never.

"Christian, I…"

And that's as far as he got.

Because the person standing in front of him wasn't Christian.

Instead, he was met by a pair of dark, accusing eyes; deep orbs framed by pale skin and platinum hair. There was suspicion swimming in them, piercing distrust that shot out like grappling hooks and sank its claws into his flesh. He could barely help but wince as the owner of the eyes moved away from her perch on the back of the couch, sidling around him without coming any nearer.

"I thought you said you had a fiancé," there was a harshness to her tone, a sharp edge that was hiding something else. Syed was sure of it. But the sharpness was all he could focus on; he immediately felt his defences begin to rise, all the openness that he had carefully cultivated on the journey from the salon withdrawing into himself.

"I do," Christian emerged from the kitchen, a tea towel in one hand as he dried a glass with a lot more force than was warranted. He stopped when his eyes met Syed's, the already wary look on his face becoming even more tense – torn somewhere between relief (the desire to leap forward and gather Syed thankfully into his arms) and an even deeper fear (the desire to dig himself a hole and curl up in it).

"You're serious?" the trespasser's eyes flicked from one man to the other; Syed couldn't shake the feeling that he was being scanned, itemised and categorised. "He's young enough for _me _to date him."

Christian coughed, his fingers clenching around the rim of the glass. Syed could see the veins bursting from the back of his knuckles, and he fought back the urge to sidestep the intruder and kiss the frown lines away from his forehead. But there was something blocking him. A shield stopping him from walking forward and providing the comfort his instincts were screaming at him to provide.

He couldn't work out whether it was girl now standing between them – or something else entirely.

Syed suddenly shook his head, clearing out the muddle of thoughts to focus on one question.

"Christian," he looked from the interloper to his partner, trying desperately to catch Christian's evasive gaze. "Who's this?"

"Oh," Christian flashed a smile that was far too forced. "This is Mara…"

"Athill," she took a step forward, the confident stride broken by the slight tremor that shook her momentarily as she grabbed Syed's hand: shaking it once and then dropping it like she'd been burnt. "Mara Athill."

"…she's…" Christian cast a quick glance in her direction. She returned it. Something passed between them Syed couldn't quite put his finger on. Suddenly, he felt a pang of jealousy creeping into his heart; it sliced into him without warning, catching him off guard in a way that he couldn't quite explain. He felt…_excluded_…from some kind of secret.

"…she's a relative," Christian broke the connection, his eyes flicking back to Syed. "She's in a bit of trouble. I said she could stay until she gets back on her feet."

And then he turned back into the kitchen, slamming the glass down onto the work surface and grabbing a knife to start on chopping the vegetables for dinner. Syed hovered by the door, twisting the keys around his fingers as he tried to make sense of the new situation that he now found himself in.

He cast a glance over at the trespasser – no, that wasn't it, her name was Mara – but she avoided his gaze, hopping over the back of the couch and drawing her knees up to her chin. She hadn't said anything, but the wall that had suddenly appeared around her might as well have been made of steel.

So Syed decided to focus his attention elsewhere; dropping his keys on the table, he slipped quickly (although he suddenly felt slightly self-conscious; like he was shedding protective layers) out of his jacket and moved hesitantly into the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" he whispered quietly, keeping his voice just below the level of the _chop-chop-chop _that rang through the flat.

"She needed my help."

"You don't know her, Christian," Syed licked his lips, casting a quick look over his shoulder. "She could be anyone."

"I told you," Christian gathered up a handful of peppers and dropped it into the sizzling pan. "She's a relative. Can we just drop it, please? She needs our help. End of."

"But Christian…"

"Sy, please," Christian turned to face him, a look somewhere between desperation and irritation clouding his features. "Just for one night. Then we can talk about it tomorrow."

It took barely a second for Syed to plaster a smile across his face, leaning forward and drawing Christian into the lightest of hugs.

"Okay," he rubbed his hand briefly along Christian's spine before pulling away. "We'll talk about it tomorrow."

As he headed for the bathroom, however, it began to dawn on him.

Tomorrow was usually one day too late.

x

**TBC...  
><strong>

x

* * *

><p>So, there we are. It only took us five chapters, but Christian, Syed and Mara are now sharing the same fictional canvas. Let all hell break lose from this moment forth...<p>

Thank you so much for reading - if you can take the time to click the button below and leave a brief comment, I would be eternally grateful. If not, then I hope you enjoyed ad I hope you will keep reading as we wade deeper into the mire. Thak you!**  
><strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** Magic Mirrors**  
>Author:<strong> MercuryPheonix (Your Angel of Music)**  
>Fandom:<strong> EastEnders**  
>Warnings:<strong> Some violent imagery, some sexual references**  
>Spoilers:<strong> Begins in the period following Tamwar and Afia's wedding (early July, 2011).

**Summary:** In the midst of a turbulent period in Christian and Syed's relationship, a mysterious figure from Christian's past emerges with a revelation that rocks him to the core. In a world of uncertainly, there is only one thing that can be guaranteed: the couple's lives will never be the same again.

**A/N:** This chapter was a key one, because the previous five have been mainly about setting up the situation that will dominate this fiction. From this point onwards, things will move a little faster - time will be spread out a little further, without such miniscule detail on one day (although this chapter is set the morning after Chapter 5). Huge thanks to **lady in waiting** for being my marvellous beta, and a huge thanks to everyone who has commented. A special shout out to everyone over in Chryedville who were so supportive during my moment of insecurity regarding this fiction. I love you all!

* * *

><p>'<em>Family faces are magic mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present, and future.<em>'

~Gail Lumet Buckley

x

**Chapter 6  
><strong>

x**  
><strong>

The first thing that Syed noticed, as he began the sluggish journey to wakefulness, was the warm arm wrapped tightly around his waist.

He shuffled slightly, a misty grogginess lingering around him as he turned instinctively towards the heat. The gentle _thump-a-thump_ of a steady heartbeat thrummed through his ears as he burrowed closer, his arms circling the flesh that was like familiar furnace against his skin. It was so comforting, so natural; as though he was following the most organic of instincts, instincts set down right at the beginning of human evolution.

A tiny smile spread across his face. Christian's body was like a comfort blanket wrapped around him; the soft textures of his skin, the familiar scent rising from his flesh, they all served to send a wave of contentment through Syed's heart.

It was like he could forget everything that was going on in their lives. As though the reassuring cadence of Christian's heart against his cheek was enough to chase away the demons that had come stalking back into their lives.

It was just as it had been so many months ago; when they were treading carefully around the shards of betrayal and deception that had littered their lives. This bed, this tiny corner of heat and passion and contentment, had been the bubble in which they had lived the happy fantasy. The cranny in which they burrowed deeply, blocking out everything else and focusing on the here and now, the two of them fused together for a few brief, frantic, gorgeous moments.

Syed burrowed closer, squeezing his eyes closed as his head moved with the _rise-fall_ motion of Christian's chest; pressing his lips against the flesh, moving his fingers in tiny circles, hoping, begging, praying as he willed the silence to continue.

He imagined, briefly, that this must have been the unreadable emotion pouring from Christian's eyes every morning during those months of deception. This must have been how the man he loved felt as those nights of truth gave way to the dishonesty of daylight.

He'd never hated the prospect of the rising sun more than he did in this moment.

Syed wanted to preserve this forever – to time-lock them in this moment, so that nothing could ever reach them again.

A sudden noise filled the air, splitting the calm that Syed had been clinging onto with every fibre of his soul. Christian jerked as the heavy _thump-a-thump_ ricocheted through the tiny flat, drowning out the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat against Syed's skin. The screeching of guitars bled outwards from the kitchen, forcing them both out of the peaceful recesses of sleep and into a sudden, almost panicked wakefulness.

As awareness grabbed hold of him with a clawed fist. Syed met Christian's eyes; the tension between them was palpable as the noises in the kitchen continued. The secrets and friction of the night before descended upon them like a heavy load; the pained silence of the meal, the quietly humming, evasive stranger on the couch, the meaningless, stupid words that had passed between them before they'd curled onto their opposite sides of the bed.

The bubble had been popped.

They dropped their gazes simultaneously, sliding out from under the covers and beginning their morning routines – separately, without the gentle, natural banter that would usually fill the air before they went off on their paths for the day.

As Syed took his turn in the shower, he couldn't help but narrows his eyes as he watched the shadow of Christian moving into the main kitchen area. Something began to tingle in the pit of his stomach, like tiny pinpricks stabbing into him at the thought of the hushed conversation taking place between the striking stranger and the man he loved. It was like a darkened curtain had been pulled down all around him, shutting him out of whatever was going on between the two of them.

He'd thought it was he who was keeping the secrets – his doubts, his uncertainty, his insecurities – but now the intense feeling of secrets _being kept from him_washed over him like a tidal wave. It was a sharp, sudden feeling that he couldn't quite get a grip on.

He scrubbed his hair violently, turning up the water so that it began to scald lightly against his skin. It was difficult to think – but he wasn't quite sure that he wanted to.

Resentment for the intruder began to bubble up inside him – and he still couldn't think of her as anything else – who had smashed that quiet blanket of peace he had been holding onto. He hated the emotions that were swelling within him, hated the fact that he couldn't be objective or realistic about the situation, but he didn't have the strength to fight against them.

All he could do was repress them as he had done for so long; it was something that he had honed to perfection over his whole life.

Switching off the shower, he quickly dried himself and threw on his clothes, barely caring what he looked like. He could feel his hair framing his face like messy straw but he couldn't be bothered to tidy it; it was windy outside anyway, so there wouldn't be too many questions when he wandered into the salon looking a little bedraggled.

Christian was just draining the last remnants of a protein shake as Syed entered the kitchen, their eyes catching for a brief moment before they fell hurriedly to the side. Syed scanned the room, noting that imposing form of Mara hovering in the corner of kitchen – it didn't pass his notice that there was a half empty bottle of something that definitely wasn't lemonade nestled in her hand. But he decided not to pass comment. There was no point in causing a fuss, no reason to add to the teetering pile of issues that were leaning against the pillars of their relationship.

"Right," Christian slid the glass onto the kitchen top, picking up his bag and hauling it onto his shoulder. "I've got an early client, so I'll have to love you and leave you I'm afraid."

He paused slightly, bouncing slightly on his heels as he contemplated whether to turn towards the door or move towards the man he loved. Syed was slightly surprised when he stepped forward, catching hold of Syed's arm in a light grip as he brushed his lips across his cheek. His eyes slid closed as Christian lingered against him, their stubble rasping against one another for a few more, heart-stopping seconds before the older man pulled away.

There was a beat – Christian's teeth sank into his bottom lip as Syed forced his eyes open, their gazes holding one another until Christian broke the silent contact.

"Okay," he shifted the bag on his shoulder. "I'll see you later."

Syed's brief moment of elevated hope was shattered as Christian's last look was thrown at the young woman in the corner, something unreadable passing between them as Christian turned to leave the flat. That hateful feeling began to fester in his stomach once again. Like rats gnawing away at the lining of his gut.

He swallowed it, turning into the kitchen distracting himself with a rummage through the fridge. Mara's eyes were burning into his back – he could feel the dark weight of them pressing against him – but he kept his head buried in his work, the cool breeze of the fridge cooling the crimson flush that had crept onto his cheeks.

Eventually, however, he was forced to surface. He took a deep breath, steeling himself as he raised an open bottle of milk to his lips.

"So," he smiled at Mara, pushing away those negative feelings and calling on every ounce of trust he could muster; he didn't know her, therefore how did he know that she _wasn't _to be trusted? "You going to be alright here by yourself?"

Mara fixed him with a stare that was like a black hole, sucking him in and spitting a mangled mess out the other side.

"No, I thought I'd indulge in some light arson whilst I was here," she flicked her eyes away, taking a gulp from the beer bottle in her hand.

Syed blinked. Uneasiness stirred in his stomach. The dislike was clear in her voice – it rang through every syllable. But it wasn't born out of a malicious vindictiveness. That much Syed could tell. What he couldn't ascertain was just where it stemmed from. He knew it was something that only she, and maybe Christian, could tell him; he also knew that they weren't going to.

It was like banging his head against a brick wall. A brick wall with steel bars shot through the centre. On fire.

He hated, hated, _hated_ this.

"Okay," he wrenched the fridge door open, setting the milk bottle back in its compartment before turning back, fingers massaging his temple. "I've got to go to work, so you just…I don't know…make yourself at home, I guess. And watch the hot tap in the bathroom – it tends to, y'know, be a bit violent if you're not careful with it. And…"

"Look," Mara set the bottle down on the work-surface, biting her lip before flicking back her head to fix him with a piercing look. "You're clearly a nice guy. You're trying your best. But cut the bullshit. You don't want me here and I don't really wanna be here. Shit happens. We're here. You don't have to like me but at least be honest with me."

Syed almost choked on air as he gulped, swallowing hard to try and fend off the emotions that were clamouring in his throat.

"No, that's not it," he fumbled for words, cursing the fact that he wasn't _slightly _more adept at expressing his emotions; Christian's gift with honesty would have gone down a treat here, he wagered. "It's just a change, that's all."

Mara surveyed him, distrust swimming in the muddy depths of her irises. He once again got the feeling that he was being read like a book, her eyes scanning every inch of his face with an intensity that made him feel incredibly uncomfortable. Eventually, she broke contact and walked forward, her fingers twisting at the hem of her shirt as she paused next to him.

"You're trusting," she whispered softly, eyes flicking to his. "That's nice. I wish I could be."

An awkward silence descended on them, the room thick with the tension that hung in the air. It only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like hours. Mara was the first to break the strained connection, heading briskly over to the sofa and drawing her knees to her chest – almost a mirror image of her position from the night before.

Syed stayed frozen to the spot, his mind a hopeless tangle of confused emotions. There were so many thoughts flitting through one another, ducking and weaving out of his grasp as he struggled to bring them together.

He didn't have the energy.

Grabbing his coat, he shucked it onto his shoulders and headed for the door. He needed to get away. He needed to focus on something else. He needed pointless banter. He needed the smell of massage oil and the hum of hairdryers filling his mind. He needed Tanya's bustling smile. He needed Jodie's inane, yet endearing, chatter.

He needed something, _anything_, that wasn't _this_.

For some reason, however, he felt compelled to cast one final glance at the young woman on the couch as he closed the door behind him.

She hadn't moved.

x

**TBC...**

x

* * *

><p>Hope you enjoyed! Reviews and feedback are the lifeblood of any fanfiction writer's work, so anything you have to say is welcomed and gratefully appreciated. But please, don't feel pressured. Only if you can. If you can't, then I just hope this fiction continues to meet with your approval - and I hope you enjoy it! Thank you again.<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:** Magic Mirrors**  
>Author:<strong> MercuryPheonix (Your Angel of Music)**  
>Fandom:<strong> EastEnders**  
>Warnings:<strong> Some violent imagery, some sexual references**  
>Spoilers:<strong> Begins in the period following Tamwar and Afia's wedding (early July, 2011).

**Summary:** In the midst of a turbulent period in Christian and Syed's relationship, a mysterious figure from Christian's past emerges with a revelation that rocks him to the core. In a world of uncertainly, there is only one thing that can be guaranteed: the couple's lives will never be the same again.

**A/N:** It's been a while. I hope that you're still out there, whoever you are who have been reading this. I've been having a few issues in real life and a few problems with my muse. Also, **lady in waiting**, my wonderful beta, has been having some issues in real life as well, and, as such, is unable to continuing betaing this fic for the foreseeable future. So there's been a few issues with finding a temporary beta and then settling into that. Thankfully, **AlpineRidge** and **a_silver_story **have agreed to help with betaing duties, on the understanding that **lady in waiting** will resume when (and only when, I have insisted!) she has sorted out things in real life. Huge thanks to them. Seriously, I'm so grateful.

So, things have settled a little now and I hope to resume with regular updates. I also want to reassure everyone that there is a lot of Chryed interaction coming up - I'm worried that them being separate for long periods in this fiction so far will put people off, but I am genuinely setting up this situation as a means through which to further explore some of the things that have happened to Chryed in the past few months. Black Friday will be a key area of exploration in this new situation - I hope to explore it, and change it, and get behind it, and ultimately make it more true than what we saw on screen.

Thank you. If you're still there, then you are angels - I love you all.

* * *

><p>'<em>Family faces are magic mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present, and future.<em>'

~Gail Lumet Buckley

x

**Chapter 7  
><strong>

x**  
><strong>

_Whump._

Christian's fist connected with pliant leather, the sound ricocheting around the open space as he uncoiled himself; like a spring releasing its energy, snapping forward with a force that was almost unrivalled.

_Whump. _

He didn't come here very often; the whole idea of boxing, beyond the apparent physical benefits, wasn't something that particularly impressed him. Usually, the thought of hitting something with intent – not the handheld bag that he used with his clients, as that, unlike a hanging bag, was not meant to _represent_ a human body – was enough to send him quickly in the opposite direction.

_Whump._

But there was something about the point he had reached, something about his circumstances, that suddenly made him want to pummel his fists as hard as he could into the padded leather. With each punch his ferocity increased, his knuckles burying themselves deep into the harsh material before ricocheting back again.

_Whump. Whump._

Christian hated this. He hated the deception, the trouble, the unknown that was staring him in the face every single day. For so many, many years his heart had been his and his alone – it had been terrifying realising that, after all his convictions of a lone, individual life, his heart was no longer his to control; it belonged to someone else. And now, less than two years after that particular bombshell, _this _had happened…

_Whump. _

…shredding the last remnants of his control, once and for all. Not only that, but the two people…

_Whump_.

…who had been instrumental to losing that control…

_Whump_.

…had spent the better part of god-know-how-many days now either avoiding each other or sending each other dirty glances. He didn't know what to do – the tension, that had hung with a considerable degree of thickness over him and Syed for some time, was now so thick it was virtually solid. Walking through that flat was like trying to swim through treacle.

_Whump. Whump. _

A grimace creased his face.

_Whump._

But there was one thing he was certain of…

_Whump._

…and that was that he absolutely…

_Whump. _

…categorically…

_Whump_.

…_hated _this.

_WHUMP_.

"I'd say give me three guesses as to whose face you're imagining on that thing," Christian jumped as a sharp voice broke his trance, his fist throbbing slightly at the force of the punch he had just delivered. "But I don't think I'd need that many."

"How'd you know I was here?" he ran the back of his hand across his forehead, the skin coming back sticky with sweat as he avoided her eyes. He didn't know why, but they made him nervous; every time he looked at them, he felt it constricting in his chest, an irrepressible feeling of _whatever it is you're supposed to be doing, you're doing it wrong_.

"Because," he continued, repressing _that_ particularl thought. "- technically, I blew off a client to come here and…y'know…punch things."

Mara took a step forward, her arms crossed across her chest; it was a defensive gesture, Christian was sure of it, but it was a posture that was so common on her that he'd stopped paying that much attention.

"I asked that guy in the pub…whatsisface…"

"Alfie?"

"Yeah, him – he said he saw you come this way, so I thought I'd check it out. Not like I've got anything better to do with my time."

With a few more strides, her heels dragging slightly against the grotty concrete of the floor, Mara was standing next to Christian. He opened his mouth, more questions tripping on the edge of his tongue, but they trickled back down his throat as he realised that she wasn't looking at him.

Her gaze was focused, almost intently, on the softly swinging punch bag beside them. Christian's mouth closed as she leaned towards it, her arm coming up so that she could splay her fingers on the coarse leather; as if she could somehow absorb the energy that still rattled through it from his last hit, the combination of anger and frustrating travelling through the leftover vibrations and into her hand.

"Y'know," her voice seemed unbelievably close _and_ far away, the syllables low and resonant. "I've never hit anyone before. In my whole life. Not once."

_What?_

Christian was at a loss as to how to respond. He tried to mask his bewilderment by keeping his face neutral - as blank as possible, no judgement, no bias, nothing but a simple, perhaps supportive, expression - but her brow creased tightly. The spell was broken, her hand snatching away from the heavy material and burrowing into her pocket as she turned her gaze to the floor.

"You don't believe me."

"Did I say that?"

Christian rubbed at his gently throbbing knuckles, his eyes never leaving the fidgeting young woman beside him. He watched as Mara sunk her teeth gently into her lip, her gaze flitting between the floor and the gym around them. The cocksure air that had surrounded her like a heavy-handed smoke signal had dissipated into the air, replaced with an all-too-rare, open vulnerability; not for the first time since that day in the pub, he felt an overwhelming urge to envelop her in a protective embrace.

Also not for the first time, something – the sharp spikiness that surrounded her, coupled, perhaps, with the nerves he wasn't going to admit to feeling – held him back.

"So, was it me?"

"What?" Christian had turned away abruptly, fighting back the urge to wrap his arms around her by reaching for his towel; his fingers gripped it tightly as he wheeled to face her, brushing the soft material against his damp forehead.

"Was it me you were imagining on that thing?" she gestured towards the bag. Understanding hit Christian like a fist in his stomach.

"No! No, of course not," he scrubbed his face again, hoping to chase away the crimson heat that was spreading across his cheeks. "Why would you think that?"

"I don't know," she scuffed her foot messily against the floor. "I just…I wanted…I need to know that you didn't…"

Mara stopped suddenly, her mouth twitching.

"I mean that it's pretty obvious you'd rather it was just you and your…_boyfriend_…" the word was uttered through clenched teeth, as though it left a bitter taste burning on her tongue. It was all Christian could do not to wince; the petulance that had swept back into her tone like a whirlwind was painfully familiar, eliciting a stirring of what might – _might_ – have been shame within him

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, feeling an unusual heat creep into his cheeks. Christian Clarke didn't do _shame_. Ever. It scared him – to the point at which he suppressed it forcefully, determined to focus on anything _but_ those imposing, frightening thoughts.

"What's your problem, anyway?" he flexed his fingers, sighing as if he could expel those alien emotions with the air. "You and…_Syed_."

It felt odd using Syed's full name – he'd become so accustomed to using that affectionate shortening, even when referring to him with other people – but something told him that _Sy_ wasn't going to cut it in this situation. It just felt…_wrong_…using such an affectionate nickname when any reference to him dripped from her lips with such contempt.

There was a huff as Mara laughed, the one-sided smile stopping before it reached her eyes.

"Where d'you want me to start?" she'd tensed, her hands on her hips and her shoulders braced defensively. "Maybe the fact that he's half your age?"

Christian bristled, indignation flaring up within him. It intertwined with something else, a strand of insecurity that had been tickling his insides for a while now. It knit together, growing in potency, in ferocity, until all he wanted was to beg her, or anyone, to reassure him otherwise; to tell him that it didn't matter, it didn't, _really it didn't_.

But all of that got lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth – all he could come up with was a petulant:

"He's not half my age."

The childishness in his own tone made him wince. Since when did he start noticing these things?

And then Mara glowered, the petulance in her tone mirroring his own.

"Close enough as makes no difference."

_Ah, yes – that's when. _

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?"

"It doesn't matter, anyway."

"Doesn't it?"

They glared at each other, a mirror-image of stubborn defiance – like a wrecking ball slamming into steel-reinforced concrete, neither of them willing nor able to break. An uneasy silence hung in the air, tension wrapping itself around them; almost forcing them closer together, united in their unwillingness to see eye to eye.

Mara broke the silence, snatching her eyes suddenly away from Christian.

"Toyboys…they're never a good thing, y'know that?" a quick glance towards him, before it dropped back to the floor. "My mum loved a good toyboy…that was never much fun…used to tell me that they'd all've worked out _fine_ if only I hadn't been there to…"

She swallowed suddenly, shuffling as a blush spread across her cheeks – Christian's natural urge to hug was reaching an almost unbearable level, the tightness in her shoulders and that _look_ in her eyes the only thing keeping him following his instincts. Usually, he knew he wouldn't have this problem…but there was something about her, a familiarity, which terrified him into stillness and yet made him want to hug her harder than he'd hugged anyone before.

"You probably think the same thing," her voice snapped him out of it, his hands falling decisively to his side.

"What d'you mean?"

"That it's my fault," she smiled weakly. "Me - screwing things up between you and your toyboy."

Understanding dawned slowly; creeping up on him with a sluggishness that wasn't particularly pleasant. He mirrored her tiny smile, crossing his arms across his chest.

"I think we were doing a pretty good job of doing that ourselves," he muttered quietly, the words barely brushing their way past his lips.

"What?"

"Nothing," the urge to lash out at the punch bag was almost overwhelming; Christian struggled to contain it, clamping his hands beneath his armpits and quickly changing the subject. "What is it about you two, anyway? Can't you just…I dunno…get on?"

That defensive smirk slotted itself into place, her eyes rolling in an exasperated fashion as she raised an eyebrow.

"You say that like it's an easy thing to do. Anyway, what's the point of making a sudden, dramatic entrance if you can't ruffle a few feathers?" she looked squarely at him, a glimmer of genuine mirth shining through. "I'm sure you'll understand that."

That…_something_…that was so evasive most of the time seemed to crackle between them, holding their gazes as if they were locked in place together. It only lasted a few moments, but Christian felt his mouth go uncomfortably dry. He coughed awkwardly, breaking their contact; he wasn't looking at her, but he sensed Mara doing exactly the same thing.

"I'm sure you and Syed could get on if you just…"

"He blames me for everything that's gone wrong, or that will go wrong, in your lives and your relationship; I'm an outsider breaking up your little bubble; I'm coming between you; I'm complicating things; things are rocky between you anyway, but now I've come in and shaken things up, his automatic assumptions are going to land on me rather than on anything, or anyone closer to home," Mara's recitation was solid, almost daring him to question what sounded, bizarrely, like a list being read from a psychiatrist's clipboard. "And even if he doesn't now, he will eventually. So will you."

Christian opened his mouth to argue, but, before he could get any words out, his brain began to tick; his mouth snapped shut with such a force that his teeth rattled in his skull. He wanted to refute everything, _everything_, she had just said – scoff, fold his arms, relegate it as nothing by psychobabble and nonsense. But the shock of realising that he wasn't sure if he realistically _could _was enough to silence him.

She began to chew on her lip, her gaze once again roving over the punch bag that now hung silently, almost threateningly, between them. There was a strange glint in her eye, as if she was holding back the urge to throw herself on it.

Again, that instinct to pull her inwards, to protect her against the world, was tugging violently at his heart; he knew he had to resist it, but…

"Look, I'll be out from under your feet as soon as I can, I promise. I just need to get myself some solid foundations – sort myself out – and then I'll be gone. You never have to hear from me again if you don't want it."

Christian sighed; guilt….exasperation…everything he was doing was wrong…_stop twisting everything, please_…

"I never said any of those things."

"I know. I did," she reached into her pocket suddenly, pulling out a crumpled brown bag. "This came today."

Christian was suddenly alert, taking a step forward as she held out the package.

"Is that…?"

Mara nodded. Christian let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"Have you…?"

"Yeah. It's in there. Just needs yours, then we can get this whole thing sorted. I've addressed it and everything. And then you can tell your boyfriend the truth."

A wave of nausea suddenly swept beneath Christian's feet, rocking his world off kilter.

_Syed_.

He hadn't thought about the…the _after_. There'd been no cause to, when his complicated, confusing _now_ was so all-consuming in his mind. Things had been so different recently; he didn't doubt the love that existed between them, but their ability to hold onto that against outside obstacles wasn't something he was so certain of anymore.

And that thought made his heart lurch painfully.

"We'll deal with that when we get to it," he stuttered, forcing out each word. Mara stared at him.

"You have to tell him. If I'm…"

"I know," he looked at her, forcing himself to meet her gaze. "I know, it's just…"

That tiny smile – that brief, fleeting _something_ that he still couldn't put his finger on.

"Complicated?"

Christian nodded.

"Well, you do what you want," she shrugged, her fingers still clamped around the crumpled package; her eyes feigned nonchalance, but the tightness of her knuckles hinted at something else completely.

Christian considered her for a brief moment, taking in the way different parts of her seemed to tell of conflicting emotions, like a story hidden within a story; the discrepancy between her eyes and her mouth; the slight twitching of her cheek; the veins popping from the back of her hand. It was like there was more than one person in there, a battle of wills between what she wanted people to see and a more complex reality.

It was meant to deflect. But it made Christian, who felt a personal pang of recognition every time he watched her struggle, eager to find out more.

"You never told me."

Mara bristled; her whole body tensing as if she was expecting a slap.

"Told you what?"

"Why your mum kicked you out."

"Oh," her body relaxed slightly, but that nervous, coiled tension remained hanging in the air around her. Christian couldn't work out whether the slight relaxation came because it was something she didn't mind him knowing, or because it was something she'd already prepared a lie to explain.

"We had a disagreement."

Christian knew he shouldn't push – but he couldn't help it. Now that he'd started, the urge to build up the pressure against those floodgates was overwhelming.

"Must have been pretty big."

The slight relaxation was reversed, like a solid wall building up her around her. Brick by brick, stone by stone; cutting her off from him or anyone else.

"Why do you want to know?"

Christian took a step forward, a foolhardy eagerness suddenly washing over him. He didn't know where it had come from it, only that it was too potent for him to hold back, whatever his head was screaming at him.

"I'm just curious – and, I don't know, if I knew what had happened I could help you…y'know…to fix things, maybe rebuild a relationship with her, or…"

"I didn't ask for that!" he stopped suddenly as something in Mara snapped, her face reddening and her voice crashing from her throat in a strangle shout. "All I wanted was somewhere to stay, somewhere to crash until I could work something out for myself, not a fucking _therapist_. You don't know anything."

She stepped forward, her arm outstretched. Christian felt himself flinch, whether from the prospect of a slap (and he'd had a fair few of them in his time) or the lashing her tongue had given him, he wasn't quite sure. This only seemed to incense her as she grabbed his wrist, jerking his hand up and slamming the brown package into his palm.

"Don't try and be what you're not," she hissed, closing his fingers roughly around the crinkly paper. "Just do this; do what you need to do, then walk away and don't look back. You've proven yourself to be so good at that, after all."

With that she released his hand, crossing her arms roughly across her chest and turning furiously on her heel. Just as a few thoughts began to trickle back through Christian's frozen brain, however, she stopped. She twisted slowly, her eyes still blazing but her body still; deathly still, like the ocean on the night the Titanic met her end.

"You wanna know why my mum kicked me out?"

Christian couldn't do anything but nod dumbly, a few rebellious tears prickling painfully at the corner of his eyes: _this isn't what I want_.

Mara swallowed hard.

"Let's just say - I had a few genetic traits she didn't approve of," Mara took in a shaky breath, her whole body suddenly trembling as she broke away and made a quick, almost frantic escape from the club.

Christian felt as though he had been kicked in the stomach; his whole world suddenly seemed to spin, a mixture of anger, pain, confusion and sheer _what-the-fuck-am-I-doing?_ knocking him violently off balance. He stumbled, catching himself against the punching bag before he could fall properly.

And then, unable to make any sense of the emotions flitting agonisingly sharply through his skull, he swung his body around and did the only thing he could do.

_WHUMP_.

x

**TBC**

x

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><p>Thank you so much for reading.<p>

I'm dealing with a huge mish-mash of emotion in this chapter, so I hope that it worked. This chapter and the next few have taken a lot out of me. If you can, please let me know what you think - I promise you there is some Chryed on the way, I promise, but I need to set the wheels of the situation in motion. So please, if you can, your comments and feedback really do help me in those moments when the muse is being uncooperative. Thank you so much. Love you all!

That wasn't meant to sound so grovelly. Sorry.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title:** Magic Mirrors**  
>Author:<strong> MercuryPheonix (Your Angel of Music)**  
>Fandom:<strong> EastEnders**  
>Warnings:<strong> Some violent imagery, some sexual references**  
>Spoilers:<strong> Begins in the period following Tamwar and Afia's wedding (early July, 2011).

**Summary:** In the midst of a turbulent period in Christian and Syed's relationship, a mysterious figure from Christian's past emerges with a revelation that rocks him to the core. In a world of uncertainly, there is only one thing that can be guaranteed: the couple's lives will never be the same again.

**A/N:** I wanted to be eloquent about this - but, to be frank, the only thing I can say is that this chapter was a bitch. It's taken me three weeks and several re-writes to get it right - including an overhaul of the overall plan and timeline of this whole fiction. This reshuffle has come from some of the wonderful comments I have received, specifically from **Changehenge** and the rightful enquiries about the length of the secrecy and Syed's continuing lack of realisation of just what the truth may be. As such, some of my plans have been overhauled and changed; but that's the point of WIPs, they work in response to the comments as they come in, which I think is the great advantage of posting a story as it is being written. A huge shout out to **AlpineRidge**, who has stuck with me through thick and thin, pulled me up when I needed to be pulled up, critiqued where I needed to be critiqued, and generally made sure that I kept these boys as true as they could possibly be - thank you, my dear, for helping me to realise that sometimes in order to do these characters justice one must do away with previously set plans and just go where they want to take me.

* * *

><p>'<em>Family faces are magic mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present, and future.<em>'

~Gail Lumet Buckley

x

**Chapter 8**

It seemed, to Syed, as if they had somehow stepped into a time warp.

As hands grasped at clothes; as lips and teeth sought out bare skin like a lion tearing into a wounded gazelle; as the room was filled with breathless, panting heat as they fought for oxygen, or dominance, or both; Syed was catapulted back to a time when this had been all they had. When those brief moments of physical reprieve, of panicked, hungry connection, had been the only thing that had kept him clinging onto his sanity.

He couldn't remember just what had sparked this off; there had been a row, of that he was sure, possibly over something as petty as whose turn it was to prepare the vegetables for dinner tonight.

The one thing he was sure of was that, one minute, they had been staring daggers into each other's eyes, mouths mere seconds away from spewing the most hurtful of venom. For the briefest of moments, Syed had been absolutely certain that this…this was _it_. The moment when they snapped. The moment when everything, _everything_, came spurting forth, breaking them apart with a ferocity previously unseen.

But it had never happened.

Instead, Christian - or had it been him? – had moved forward, crashing their lips together with an intensity that Syed realised he had missed in the past few weeks. Hands had curled in his hair, tugging at the roots until a sharp pain reverberated through his scalp; he'd reciprocated immediately, bunching Christian's top under his nails as if he could claw through into the skin beneath.

_This_. He could deal with _this_.

He could deal with the pent up tension if it lead to this. As unhelpful and ultimately damaging as he knew it was, _this _was something that he understood. Something that he could recognise; grasping at old memories, old emotions, drawing them to the surface and holding onto them as if they were a life raft in the sea of sudden uncertainty.

Somehow – Syed had never understood just _how _they did, but the cramped nature of the flat probably had something to do with it - they made it to the bed. Christian's teeth were now scraping sharply at the patch of skin just behind his ear as Syed struggled with his clothing, torn between wrenching his head away to divest Christian of his top and just letting him carry on with his ministrations. Eventually, he settled for working his hands beneath the material, bunching it clumsily beneath Christian's armpits to give him better access to the furnace of bare flesh.

Ever since they'd been together, together _properly_, the battle for dominance had taken on an air of playfulness; tussling, mock-annoyance, chuckled promises about _next time_. But the battle that was taking place here, _now_, was reminiscent of the early days of desperation and assertion, each of them vying for some level of control in a situation that was gradually sapping them of their power. Syed growled as Christian pinned his wrists to the head of the bed with one hand, frustration thrumming through him as he struggled against the iron grip; for the first time in a very long while, he found himself hating Christian's sheer physical size, loathing that he could use his frame to gain control of a situation that Syed, despite the bulky strength that a year of relative happiness had given him, was losing a grip on.

Anger mixed in with the physical sensation, catapulting him back to a time that was so much more complicated…and, yet, so much _simpler _as well. Back then, they couldn't have what they wanted – that had been fact. But now they could – but they didn't know how. It wasn't external forces anymore that were driving between them.

It was them.

All thought was banished as Christian wriggled his free hand beneath the waistband of Syed's jeans, the tightness of the material forcing skin to skin, flesh to flesh, nerve to nerve. Syed jerked upwards, one leg locking around Christian's waist to force them together. He could feel his nails digging into flesh, teeth scratching almost painfully against his neck, fingers setting his nerve-endings on fire; the visceral sensations over-powering all thought.

He didn't want to think anymore.

He wanted this. He wanted flesh. He wanted feeling.

_This_. _This_._ This_.

"Shit!"

Christian froze above him, spine tensing and hand stilling against Syed's flesh as if ice had been injected into his veins. As he stopped, the force-field of sensation that had formed around Syed's thoughts broke down; all the worry, the tension, the confusion, the fear flooded through him, a rush of emotion that shook him to his core.

They broke apart swiftly, Christian rolling to the side in order to face the source of the voice which had broken the all-consuming, angry passion.

Mara stood by the sofa, frozen to the spot as the lightest of blushes crept across her cheeks. Later, Syed would recall that her fingers had been twisting nervously in the hem of her top, her mouth opening and closing slightly, as if she was struggling to find any words. But, at that point, all he wanted was for her to go away – to leave them to the oblivion that they had all too willingly been seeking.

"Sorry," there was a slight tremor to her voice as she fought to pull herself together, genuine remorse tingeing the syllables. "I'll…I'll just go…"

_Yes_.

"No."

Syed turned, confusion shooting through him as he watched Christian lock eyes with the intruder.

"It's fine."

_It's not_.

"Stay."

_Please go away_.

Mara stood stock still, her eyes flicking between them; as if she were gazing into each them, able to read the disapproval that Syed was desperately trying to contain within himself. It was an irrational blame, a dislike that seethed within him – but he couldn't help it. And he knew, somehow, that Mara could see it. However, with one last twitch of her eyes towards Christian, she nodded; dropping her jacket onto the table before heading swiftly past them with a mutter that sounded vaguely like _I need a shower_.

Syed lay still on the bed as Christian hauled himself up, the noises exploding around him as he stared at the ceiling: the pattering of feet against the floor, the slight brushing noise as Christian manoeuvred his bunched shirt back into its rightful place and the thumping of his own still-frenetic heart against his ribcage.

The silence was sharp, cutting through him. Frustration bubbled ferociously inside of him, an unwanted mix of irritation, anger, desperation and…and _blame_.

Again, he was filing Mara away in that box that screamed: _it's your fault!_

He didn't want to. But he couldn't help it. It was a feeling that was too strong to subdue – all he could do was try his best to hide it, to keep it at the very bottom of the pile...even though he just knew that Mara had seen it in his eyes.

The guilt he felt at that only fed into the emotions: he felt himself despising her for being able to see it, loathing that she was looking at something that he didn't want her to see. Something that was none of her business. Like she was in their lives – _none of her business_. And yet she was there.

_Why?_

He'd gone along with Christian's assurances that she was 'a relative'- maybe others would call him stupid, but he preferred to think of himself as the keeper of the peace. Even before this…'relative'…had crashed into their lives, there had been a simmering tension in the air; emotions unvoiced, anxieties kept within closed mouths, disagreements locked deeply inside their hearts for fear of the damage that full-scale confrontation could bring. And Christian had seemed so…so _down_, so anxious, so beseeching as he had looked at Syed, willing and pleading for him to trust him, to not ask questions, to let him do this, _please_…

The enormity of everything suddenly hit him. This girl had taken over their lives, and Syed had been so wrapped up in his own futile attempts to repair the cracks that had been creeping in over the weeks to face the fact that he _didn't know who she was_. A relative? What did that mean? Why wasn't Christian being open with him about this?

He was being lied to. He was being locked out.

He deserved to know. He did.

Suddenly, a wave of determination crashed over him. He sat up abruptly, swinging his legs away from the bed and striding purposefully into the kitchen.

"Christian."

Christian turned to face him, a glass of water frozen midway to his lips. Syed fought the urge to swallow everything back, to step away and let the situation unfold as fate saw fit – but he couldn't, not anymore. He took a deep breath before continuing:

"Why is she here?"

The words were so determined, so decisive, so…_un-Syed-like_…that Christian blinked in surprise.

"Sorry?"

"_Mara_," Syed nodded in the direction of the bathroom. "Why is she here? Who is she to you?"

Christian blinked again; his eyes fixed at some non-descript point on the wall as his tongue came to swipe at his bottom lip. The veins began to stand to attention against Christian's knuckles as his hand tensed around the glass. Syed expected an outburst, some kind of harsh retaliation for daring to question him – but instead he just exhaled, fiery heat releasing itself with the breath as he deflated.

"I told you," he began to fiddle with the coffee maker, his thumb flicking distractedly over the buttons as he refused to meet Syed's gaze. "She's a relative. She's having a bit of trouble, so I said she could stay."

"Right," Syed tried to make the word sound convincing, but there was something sticking in his throat. He hated how scathing the word sounded coming out of him; it made him flinch inwardly, torn between his natural desire to not rile the situation further and the angry uncertainty that had him in an iron grip.

Christian's jaw had set, his hackles visibly raised as the unfamiliar, acerbic tone of Syed's voice hung in the air. He raised the glass stiffly to his lips, taking a loud _gulp_ before holding it tensely in front of him.

"You don't believe me?" he looked up, a challenge in his eyes.

Syed tried to fight the challenge. He really did. But it was as if he had reached his final breaking point – the point where he couldn't keep everything contained within him any longer. He had accepted that this stranger had a connection to Christian – hell, anyone could see that they were related – but he could no longer fight the suspicions that were stirring in his mind. He wanted to know the truth – because he was certain he was only being shown the tiniest glimpse of a much fuller picture.

So Syed took another step forward, a million words fighting for dominance in his brain – but only one could win.

"No."

There was a sharp intake of breath from Christian, the atmosphere freezing around them; as if waiting for a sledgehammer to be brought down upon it, shattering everything. Syed waited for the blow to come, fully expecting to feel the full reverberations of his words.

But it never came.

Instead, Christian took a shaky breath, breaking his gaze away.

"Fine. You do what you want."

He turned away, draining the last of the glass as if he could wash away the venomous feelings that were shooting between them. Syed could feel a tremor running up his spine, the need to fight this out ricocheting around in his brain; butting heads with that part of him that had always, _always_, just wanted to keep the peace.

So, unable to balance his options, he took a step forward; hoping beyond hope that he could confront this without shattering the tense atmosphere.

"Christian," he raised his hand, letting it tremble a few centimetres from Christian's back before thinking better of closing the gap. "I just want you to be honest with me."

"I am being honest with you," Christian turned back to him, an unreadable expression on his face; the fact that Syed couldn't decipher his expression was terrifying. Why was he being so evasive – why wasn't he telling him what was wrong? There was something about the guarded expression – so unlike the Christian he had fallen for, the Christian who despised the thought of hiding and who offered honesty in all situations – that sent a wave of fear shooting through him.

"Christian…"

"Sy…please…"

"No, Christian. You're not telling me the truth. Not the whole of it anyway. I _know_ you…" he took another step, his hand hovering just centimetres away from Christian's slightly grizzled cheek; the urge to press his palm against him, to cup his face in his hands and draw the truth from his eyes, was almost overwhelming. "…I _know_ when you're not telling me something. Please."

Christian's eyes were fixed downwards; even as Syed's hand tickled the air above his cheek, even as Syed's words cut through the air towards him, even as Syed's gentle yet earnest plea for some kind of honesty to be restored fluttered between them – he didn't move.

Eventually, however, he did raise his gaze – not to look at Syed, but to stare intently at something just over his left shoulder.

"And I know _you_," his eyes flicked briefly to Syed, gauging like a spear before pulling away. "I know when_ you're_ not telling me something."

Syed's defences flared, suddenly, unexpectedly. Fear suddenly began to arise in his brain as all his doubts and anxieties of the past few weeks – from even before Mara had shaken things up – bubbled to the surface.

_This direction…these plans…this adoption…so fast, far too fast…I don't know…I can't tell him…can't hurt him…_

He swallowed, forcing those negative feelings down into his gut; _where they should be_, he thought, _where they can't do anymore damage_.

"Christian…" – _look at me, please_ – "…you can't keep doing this."

"Sy…"

Christian's tone wasn't so much a warning as a desperate plea to stop; but Syed couldn't stop, not now. He had no choice but to keep pressing – urgent yet gentle, insistency that was loosely coated in a thread of comfort.

"A relative?" he tried, his fingers as close to Christian's cheek as they could humanly be without touching him. "What kind of relative? A family friend? A cousin? Or even a…a _sister_?"

The hand that was clasped around the tumbler began to shake, the remaining droplets of water shimmering slightly in Christian's grasp. That darkening fear that began to veil itself over Christian's eyes told him that he was closer…closer than Christian wanted him to be…maybe...

His heart suddenly gave a lurch as a thought grabbed hold of him; a realisation creeping up on him, something that seemed so terrifyingly obvious now that he was thinking of it…something that had been buried in the very depths of his subconscious, subdued by more prominent tensions, hidden away beneath a mask of seeming impossibility.

_It can't be_.

"She's not…"

He couldn't finish his sentence. Instead, he searched Christian's face; wanting him to refute everything, to crawl back into vagueness, to reassure him, to just have _something_ that would let them resume with the normal rhythm of their lives.

Instead, Christian breathed out, a shaky kind of fear infused with his breath. He closed his eyes, a silent plea on his lips…

"I don't want to lie to you, Sy."

It was that tone of voice that Christian used when _he_ wanted reassuring – when he wanted Syed to take his hand, to stroke his hair, and tell him that whatever he'd done, however _stupid_ he had been, it would all be alright in the end…because Syed still love him, he still loved him and everything was going to be okay.

But all Syed could hear in his mind was the crumbling of his own certainty – he had needed reassuring, he had needed that from Christian, and Christian hadn't given it to him. Something was shaking within him, a belief that Christian would always be there to reassure him when he needed it, to tell him that everything was alright, to be the one to _know the answers_ – it was trembling, cracking, crumbling.

"Then don't," his voice was shaking, not through anger, but through his fear of the unknown that was staring him in the face. "_Tell_ me Christian…tell me…please…I need to know if she…"

The glass came slamming down onto the side, the sound reverberating violently through the air – finally breaking the silence that had wrapped them in an icy blanket. Christian turned, his raised hackles filling the kitchen as he looked in Syed's direction.

"Why can't you just trust me?" it wasn't quite a shout, but it was hovering precariously on the edge between fiery anger and quiet desperation. "It's…I just…I'm working on it, okay?"

He turned away, grasping the glass lightly and depositing it in the sink with an air of almost tentative finality. Syed, however, felt even more uncertainty simmering in his stomach, churning around with a force that he could ignore.

He stepped forward, again reaching out with one hand towards Christian – as if, if they could just touch, they would somehow reconnect and everything would start to make sense again.

"How can I trust you when you're not telling me the truth?"

Syed grasped Christian's shoulder as he tried to turn away, wrenching him back with as much strength as he could; Christian didn't even try to fight it, his whole body light as Syed swung him around.

"Christian?"

"I've never lied to you," Christian locked their gazes, grabbing at Syed's hand beseechingly. "Not _once_ have I lied to you. I said I'd never lie to you, ever, and I keep my promises. Why can't you just let me work things out? That's all I want, is for you to let me _deal_ with this. It's _my _problem."

Those eyes were there, those eyes that Syed couldn't normally resist. But today was different – today Syed was gripped by an uncertainty that Christian was doing _nothing_ to help assuage. He felt everything…_everything_…bubbling within him, Christian's hold on his hand doing nothing but stoking a fire that was already in danger of burning out of control.

"_Your_ problem? How can it just be _your_ problem? She's _here_, Christian, affecting every single corner of your life…and I'm a _part_ of that life. It's _everything_ to do with me. How can you not see that? Do you really think that this wouldn't affect me…that it wouldn't impact on _my_ life as much as yours? Do you really think so little of _me_, of _us_…"

Syed could feel the words biting at his throat as they came, but he couldn't stop. The floodgates had been opened, burned beyond recognition – words poured out of him, syllable after syllable, without thought of repercussion.

"I let her in here – on our sofa, in our _home_ – and I did that because I _trusted _you. I thought you knew what you were doing…I believed that this was something you had under control, something that would just be for a short time, and I let you do that because _I love you_. How could I have been so stupid? She could have been anyone. She could have done anything. _I didn't think_. I didn't know what she could have done. She could have…I don't know…she could have slit our throats in our bed, made off with the television, _anything_."

Christian dropped his hand as if it had burned him, stepping back as if to shield himself from the torrent.

"But that _didn't happen_, Sy, she isn't…"

"How could I have known that? You didn't tell me."

"Stop it."

"To me she's a stranger, Christian. She's a stranger in our _home_. Here. _Our_ home. We don't know what we're getting into here. What we're getting involved in. I don't want her here, Christian, please, I can't deal with this, with _her_, we can't…we just can't…_I _can't…"

Christian opened his mouth to reply – but something in his eyes suddenly changed, the frustration and anger morphing into fear as they caught something over Syed's right shoulder. Syed frowned.

"What…" and then he turned; and he saw.

Mara was stood frozen in between the bathroom and the bed, one hand supporting her against the wall whilst the other clenched into a fist at her side.

Regret plunged into Syed's heart like a jagged knife, tearing painfully at his insides as he saw the deadened mist that had descended over her dark irises. What he had felt – those emotions had been real, truthful, the raw feeling dripping straight from his heart. But those eyes…the hurt…and suddenly she was physical, young, vulnerable and no longer the big bad monster of his anxious, frightened imaginings.

"Mara," he hesitated as she failed to respond, wondering whether or not to take a step towards her. "I didn't…I'm sorry…I just…"

He made a tentative move in her direction, for some reason compelled to reach out a hand...but she snapped out of her reverie, staring straight into his eyes before slapping the hand away and pushing her way into the living area.

Christian followed, avoiding all contact with Syed as he manoeuvred around him.

"Wait…"

The bag was already in Mara's hand, a few items of clothing that had been strewn over the couch being roughly stuffed inside it.

"Mara," Christian caught her arm as she turned to leave, the bag slung precariously over one shoulder; she turned around reluctantly, a dull fire raging in her eyes as she faced him. Syed stayed out of the way, a little jealousy mingling in with the remorse as he saw _that look_ pass between them once again – he swallowed it back, watching intently despite the unwelcome feeling creeping into his gut.

He heard Christian swallow.

"You don't…please don't…" there was a breath, another gulp; eyes narrowed, a gaze cast across the floor before the realisation that he _couldn't stop her_. Syed watched in silence at the silent exchange that seemed to pass between them – wondering how he had managed to miss – or, at least, unconsciously repress - the similarities that shone like the reflection from a slightly cracked mirror.

Christian was the one to break the silence:

"You just take care of yourself, okay?"

There was a beat – and then Mara nodded, moving gently, reluctantly away from his grasp and heading out of the door.

Once the door had clicked shut, Syed moved towards his fiancé. He didn't know what to say, how to make it better, what to do...he just wanted...what did he want? Something. He wanted something, anything that...

"Christian…"

But Christian side-stepped his comforting hand, refusing to meet Syed's gaze as he made his way back into the kitchen. Syed felt his heart plummeting into his stomach, a dreadful feeling that he hadn't felt for a very long time settling in his gut.

"Christian…we need to talk…"

And then Christian looked at him directly. The look was intensely cold, sending an unwelcome shiver up Syed's spine; he felt something inside him shrivel, the remaining fight retreating back into the depths it had come from.

"I think we've done enough talking for one day."

And Syed knew that those were the last words he was going to hear from the man he loved that night.

x

x

**TBC**

* * *

><p>Thank you for hanging in there with this. There's still a lot of stuff that isn't answered - why is it that Christian is so against telling Syed the truth, why doesn he let Mara go rather than follow her as she leaves, and just what has Syed just realised (although I'm sure you've all worked this out already) - but I can assure you that these elements are all answered in the next few chapters, much of which is already written, or at least framed out. It will not be long! Thank you so much for sticking with me if you're still out there - I love you and your persistence, especially when it comes to the length of time and the monster nature of this chapter. The boys needed to have it out. So thank you, I love you, more statements of a grovelly and soppy nature and...yeah...it was comments in the reviews that led to a lot of changes in this fiction as well as just this chapter, so if you have anything to say then I would be most grateful and honoured to hear it. Thanks again!<strong><br>**


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